A Man Of His Word
by Wayward Explorer
Summary: Broots Remembers... Why he entered The Centre


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TITLE:A Man Of His Word

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AUTHOR:Wayward Explorer

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SUMMARY: Broots remembers Why he joined The Centre.

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RATING:PG

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DISCLAIMER:I don't own Broots, and I don't own The Centre. I don't own anything relating to The Pretender. No copyright infringement intended; no profit to be made from the writing or posting of this story. I only own the genius that wrote this story (and so modest!).

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A/N: I acknowledge IJ for an idea contained in this story.

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It was so quiet in the tech room.

Broots took the opportunity to stand up and stretch his legs. It was only at the very start of the ascribed lunch break that the tech room ever fully emptied out, as the computer technicians attempted to retrieve and eat their lunch from the cafeteria before it became crowded. Broots shook his head at the thought. The line was so much shorter about ten minutes before the lunch break ended, and that was when he would slip down, pick up the sandwich he had asked the staff to hold aside, and return to the tech room to tinker with software just in time for Miss Parker to stalk in and demand his presence in Sydney's lab. The last year or two, he had spent more time in the lab and Outside on Jarod's trail than he had at his computer. Several times he had returned to find parts requisitioned, although being Miss Parker's 'assignment' (as other departmental free-lance techs disdainfully referred to the appointment) certainly had its perks.

It was no ordinary day, he noted as he rolled his head from side to side to try and release some of the continuous tension. He had woken up this morning with the date ringing in his head. Every year, this date was the one that had a built-in lead-up alarm clock. A week beforehand he would begin to feel sick, but by the time the day arrived, he would be back to his best. It was like something deep inside was acknowledging the price that had been paid on this day, so many years ago, and making sure that he did his best to honour it.

For on this day, he had entered The Centre.

No one knew why he had come to this forsaken place. Broots was sure that the reason had been deleted from his employment file, for it had never been held against him in chances for advancement, and no one had ever mentioned it. Broots had a feeling that even Jarod, genius that he was, had never found out how it was that he had come to The Centre, no matter how many times he had invaded the Mainframe.

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"Jack, come on, you can't be serious. I've heard about that place, it's - "

"Fantastic. State of the art equipment, the newest tech B, it's a dream come true!"

His brother was so excited that afternoon he called. 

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"Guess who has a job, B?"

"Well done, Jack," said Broots. He himself had had trouble finding work since gaining his Masters, but he was still happy for his brother. "Where?"

There was a slight pause on the other end of the line. "It's that place out of town, The Centre."

Broots frowned. "Jack, come on, you can't be serious"

But Jack had been serious. He'd signed a contract that day, and effectively signed away seven years of his life.

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"Seven years? Jack, are you crazy?"

"It'll take that long just to get level two privileges. And the money!"

That day they talked long into the night. Finally, he had to concede defeat.

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"I've signed, B. And you know I'd never go back on my word, much less a contract."

Yes, Broots knew. He had always been able to depend on his brother to be there for him. Sometimes they seemed to share a single consciousness, acting as one.

Maybe The Centre had known that.

Only three days later, the call came. A disinterested voice on the phone was the messenger.

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"Broots here."

"Mr. Broots? I'm very sorry to have to tell you this, but - "

"Who is this?"

"Delaware State Police, Sir. We have reason to believe that your brother, a Mr Jack Broots, committed suicide two days ago, and we'd like you to collect his belongings"

Only at the police station did he think about the body.

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"Do you need me to identify his body, or anything?"

"Mr Broots, your brother jumped off a cliff." The policeman looked at him sternly over the rims of his reading glasses. "We assume his body was swept out to see - but as you can see, we found a suicide note in his car"

And then, about a week later, he got the first phone call.

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"Hello?"

"Good evening. I'm looking for a Mr Broots."

"This is he."

"Mr Broots, I represent a certain private company with a facility near Blue Cove. Your brother signed a contract with us, for seven years work in computer technical work."

"Yes, I know." Broots waited for the vaguely pleasant but emotionally devoid voice on the other end of the line to continue, but it didn't. "Is there anything else?" he asked.

"Mr Broots, we take commitment seriously. Your brother made a commitment to us."

"What are - what, do you expect me to drop everything else in my life and work for you because my brother signed a contract?" Broots shook his head to himself.

"I'm sorry, no."

The voice on the other end paused, and then said one more thing before hanging up.

"You will hear from us again."

And he did. For the next month, they rang up to five times a day, pressuring him to give in, to honour Jack's contract, to enter the organisation.

And finally, he did.

He was given instructions to follow, and nervously, he followed them to the letter. Everything went well, and soon he was a freelance computer technician at The Centre, based in the tech room, but appointed to various teams and tasks for short periods of time, then returned to the tech room like a much-desired Christmas present that ends up collecting dust on the shelf. Until he was assigned to Miss Parker to trace Jarod.

Then, every week became a new adventure - another trip, more clues to follow. And four years had ticked by. At the end of the first contract, they had offered him such a huge salary package; he couldn't refuse - which was, he imagined, why most of the people who were here were in the first place. He had signed up for another seven years in order to provide some financial security for his young family, only to find out that his wife was hoarding money to gamble. They divorced, and he began to wonder if he'd made a mistake. 

But there was no way to get out of the contract.

Four years down. Three to go. With everything he'd learnt, Broots was starting to worry that they'd never let him go now.

Could he just run now? Grab Debbie, and take off, never come back?

Broots inclined his head, heard an uncomfortable 'click', and felt his neck pop back into place. The sound and the sensation pulled him back to his surroundings - people were starting to filter back into the tech room, and he could not afford to waste any more time.

As he walked from the room, headed determinedly for the cafeteria, Broots shook his head again. As much as he detested what he had learnt about The Centre and what it had done over the years, he could not walk away. 

He was a man of his word. 

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FIN © 2003 JWE

Post-story A/N: So you don't all go off imagining fantastical continuations, this story was intended as a means of filling out some of Broots' shady background - and there are no plans for it to continue in the form of more chapters. But you want more? Check out my author page for other tP-oriented "Character Studies".

Like it? Loathe it? Love it? 

All comments welcome: waywardexplorer@hotmail.com 

Started, Completed 13/5/03

Beta'd by: Maestra (the marvellous)


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